


But they aren't just dreams

by mercury58



Category: All For The Game - Nora Sakavic
Genre: Angst, Flashbacks, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Nightmares, Past Abuse, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-22
Updated: 2019-01-22
Packaged: 2019-10-14 14:53:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,430
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17510729
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mercury58/pseuds/mercury58
Summary: Neil's childhood still haunts him, but Andrew is there to comfort him.





	But they aren't just dreams

**Author's Note:**

> Day 4 of Neil's birthday week! Sorry this is so angsty but i swear it has a happy ending. Say hi to me on tumblr!   
> https://www.tumblr.com/blog/sleepwalkersregime

Nathaniel is six years old. At school, he’s confused why other kids smile so much. What do they have to laugh about? His teacher is concerned when he comes in with bruises on his face, and he notices at recess that the only scabs he ever sees on another student is the occasional skinned knee. When he gets home, a knife is pushed into his hands. He knows not to cry anymore. He cried the first few times and received a punch to the side each time. It hurt to breathe for the next month. He just learned about possums in his science class- they carry their babies in a pouch on their stomach- and now he has to dissect it himself.

Nathaniel is eight years old. He stands in a shooting range with his father looming behind him. Nathaniel is afraid, but he knows that if he shows it, Nathan will only give him more to fear.   
“You remember what I taught you?” Nathan urges. Nathaniel swallows and nods. He aims the pistol in his small hands at the target and fires one, two, three, four, five times in a row, each shot hitting the center. He turns around. Nathan grins, but it’s not so much a smile as it is baring his teeth like an animal.   
Nathaniel has dreams riddled with the sounds of gunfire, and he’s never sure if it’s coming from the gun in his own hands or his father’s.

Alex is eleven. He’s been on the run with his mother for a year now. He’s not in school, but Mary keeps teaching him math and reading, along with the language needed wherever they are at the moment. It’s late- Alex isn’t sure what time, but it’s dark outside. In a hushed voice, Mary tells him about distributing numbers in parenthesis. His eyes are drooping. They hear heavy footfalls coming from outside the alleyway where they huddle beneath a scratchy blanket on a hastily thrown up cot, and Mary stills, eyes searching in the dark. The steps pass, but they don’t continue math lessons until tomorrow night. 

Stefan is thirteen. He’s grown two inches in the past month, but every time he says as much to Mary, she tells him he won’t get any taller. They’re in Europe right now, in their ninth city since they ran from Baltimore. It’s 2 am and the restaurants have finally all turned out their lights. Mary whispers into Stefan’s ear roughly. “It’s your night to find food. I’ll stay here and keep watch.” Stefan nods and sets off into the night. After having no success with three different dumpsters, he finds a smaller cafe and picks the lock to the back door. It swings open with a creak. Stefan finds two loaves of stale bread, but his stomach growls and he decides it’s good enough. He tucks the loaves into his jacket and re-locks the door behind him, but a man is leaning against the wall outside. On instinct, Stefan reaches for the knife in his boot and strikes first before the man can, but he’s not fast enough. A blade catches Stefan across the front of his chest and he winces, but it only makes him move faster. The man grabs Stefan’s throat, and Stefan uses this to bring his own knife into the man’s arm. The man cries out and brings his arm to his stomach, and Stefan lunges forward, stabbing once more, in the throat. The man falls to the street and Stefan runs. His lungs burn and he’s clutching his chest. When he comes back to where Mary has their belongings camped out, she sees the blood on his face and shirt and immediately packs up. They run to their tenth city. The two hard loaves of bread have fallen out of Stefan’s jacket and are long gone.

Mark is fourteen. Mary teaches him chemistry at night, now. During the day, she leaves to get food, water, and ammo. She grabs the collar of his shirt. “Stay here and watch our things. Your father’s men are always trailing us.” He mutters a small, “yes ma’am.” Ten minutes after she leaves, Mark tucks their belongings further toward the back of the car they’re living in, putting it more out of sight, and walks to the local high school. For three weeks now, he’s been sneaking into classes. They don’t notice him if they’re big ones. He never goes to the same class more than twice, and if he ever gets questions from teachers, they’re easily deflected with a “My papers are still in the process of being transferred,” or “I’m just visiting my cousin, they said I could come to school with him for a few days.” A girl in the freshman English class eyes him throughout the period. He returns her gaze. Once the bell rings and students pour into the halls, Mark follows the girl outside and behind the school. Without much pretense, they’re kissing against the wall. It feels good, physically, but he doesn't feel much besides the girl's hands on his hips and her tongue in his mouth.  
It happens again the next day. Mark wants to do it again, chasing some sort of emotional attachment to the kisses that he feels like he’s missing. On the third day, she asks to meet him after school. He tells her 8 pm, when he knows Mary will be busy counting inventory, behind an abandoned building. Fingers have just begun to find their way to hems lines when a sharp voice barks out Mark’s name, and his blood turns to ice. “I’m sorry,” he hopes this makes up for shoving the girl off of him and running. He knows he only has one place to go- all he has is Mary, but he doesn’t return to the car for another two hours, afraid of what’s coming.   
The next morning, Mark’s jaw and eyes are achy and swollen, riddled with splotches of purple, blue, and green. His shoulder is sore from popping it back into its socket after his mother tore it out, and he’s familiar enough with broken ribs to recognize them once more. He swears he’ll never kiss a girl again, and he doesn’t sneak to the school anymore.

Chris is sixteen. Mary is coughing up blood in the passenger seat as Chris speeds toward a deserted beach on the coast. By the time he puts the car in park, she isn’t coughing anymore. Chris’s body is still covered with bruises and cuts when he drops the lighter. As he lets out wracking sobs, he can’t help but remember all the times Mary hit him for crying. When nothing but ashes are left, he can only think of her harsh words and harsher hands. Even the smell of cigarette smoke puts images in his mind of Mary pushing her thumb into the gun wound she had just stitched up on Chris’s shoulder when he stepped out of razor-thin line, of Mary punching him so hard he threw up, of Mary screaming at him to run faster, be quieter, of Mary-

 

“Neil.”  
A cold hand pressed to Neil’s burning forehead.   
“Neil!”  
Neil’s eyes opened and he took in his surroundings, just as Mary taught him. He felt hot, and his clothes were soaked with sweat. He was tangled in the sheets with Andrew hovering over him, his blank eyes providing a solid weight to counteract the raging emotions inside Neil. His breathing still hadn’t slowed down.   
“Andrew,” Neil whispered. Andrew’s thumb rubbed against Neil’s temple and he closed his eyes.   
“It was just a dream, Abram. You’re safe.” Andrew’s voice was low from sleep.   
A tear slipped down Neil’s cheek when he opened his eyes once more to look at Andrew. “They’re not dreams though…”  
“Yes or no?”  
Neil whispered a choked yes and Andrew slid his hand to the back of Neil’s neck. Slowly, Neil scooted his body in closer until he could wrap his arms around Andrew’s chest and bury his face into Andrew’s shoulder.   
Andrew held tighter. “Breathe, Abram. I’m here.”  
Neil exhaled slowly, trying to regain control of his body. Finally, the image of his dead mother left his mind, and all he could think of was Andrew’s heart beat in his ear. “Thank you,” he whispered, barely audible.   
There was only softness in Andrew’s voice when he said “You’re getting my shirt wet.”  
Flush against Andrew, Neil fell back into dreamless sleep. Andrew didn’t move, settling instead to watch Neil’s eyelashes flutter and press a kiss to his hair.


End file.
